I began as "Dad on Deck," and took my boys to their bowling league, and got to cheer for each of them, as well as for their teammates. You know, I suppose some folks look down their noses on this "lesser" sport, but I enjoy the crowd of parents and grandparents almost as much as watching the young bowlers. It's a very mixed group, with a few oddities. Most of them, though, come with good attitudes. Most seem happy to cheer for all the kids, theirs, mine, and others. The coaches aren't pitched against one-another; they wander the lanes and share the task of helping all the kids.
The weather was a lot better than the forecast, so when we got home I was able to fire up the grill. Pauline brought home some brats and buns. In no time at all, we had a brief reprise of summer in our house.
Then, my 8-year-old opted to go with me to celebrate another pastor's 25th anniversary of ordination. Steve was a former co-pastor with me 8+ years ago, so people from my current congregation were graciously invited by Steve's current members to join them in songs and sharing stories and memories. I was inspired yet again by the work God can do through people like Steve. He simply makes himself available to others, to play with them, to sit with them, and even to cry during those deepest moments. And through all of this with words and actions he preaches and assures and insists--against all that the world seems to say--that they are each worth the sacrifice of Christ and the love of God. I was grateful for our work together then, and grateful to God now for each time that I have called him up for his perspective and advice.
Home again, but I shouldn't skip over the gift of spending-time with one-son-at-a-time. In the car, or playing foursquare, or video games on my phone. Dang, it can be fun, and--when I think back on my own experiences and times with my dad--I suppose it's even more important than I usually realize.
Then, I received a call from a counselor from one of the area hospitals. One of my members died of heart-attack at the age of 54. His mother and much of his family are also members of my congregation. We gathered at the hospital's family room. Then, a few of us gathered around his body. We went back to their house. There was numbness, grief, tears, memories, laughter, deep moments of meaning, separated by light meaningless moments ...which also heal. Some of the laughter included teasing one of his nieces. She is now full-term, and looking forward to letting her restless baby do his kicking outside her belly! The promise of new life alongside of death. The promise of New Life from death.
Home again for me. Late now. Kisses for each sleeping figure: for wife who murmured a soft "good night," for son #1 who crept from his bed into my usual spot, and for son #2 who is sleeping sideways, long legs sticking out from beneath covers. It was beautiful and peaceful, if a little sad to return to a quiet, sleeping house...Later still, I finished up notes for tomorrow's adult forum on the power of the Gospel. I should've went straight to bed from there, but I felt drawn to jot down the day's events and these few thoughts. Perhaps this is a way to cherish a few moments from an otherwise fleeting day.
Now, it's early morning. Sunday. I will head to bed for a few hours of rest, but I'll do it with the passage that was behind all the eagle images that surrounded the walls and shelves of the 54-year-old man's bed in his home: Isaiah 40:31 - "Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles."
